


The Shell Game Job

by clarissafrench



Category: Leverage, Numb3rs
Genre: Action/Adventure, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 09:24:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10964361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarissafrench/pseuds/clarissafrench
Summary: When Don Eppes is kidnapped on an FBI raid, help comes from an unexpected place.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set during season three or four of Numb3rs, reference to Blackout. Set between season three and four of Leverage. References to The Wedding Job, The Stork Job, The Fairy God Parents Job, The D.B. Cooper Job. Big spoilers for The Morning After Job. Also, thank you to my good friend dietcokechic for the beta read and also to TimeLord98 for her help.

Don Eppes could feel the headache before he opened his eyes. It started at the back of his skull and just radiated forward. His left shoulder was shooting pain down his arm, and his body ached. He tried to reach up and touch his head with his right hand—but he couldn't. His arms remained firmly pulled behind his back, and he could feel the cold metal of handcuffs pressing into them.

Suddenly a lot less groggy, he squinted, blinked a few times, then fully peered out at the room around him. The walls were gray cement, at least 25 feet high. Several stacks of cardboard boxes stood around the room, and the only light came from a somewhat small window near the roof.

Without his watch, he didn't have much of a concept of what time of day it was—he couldn't see the position of the sun, but the light was pretty good. Looking down at himself, he could see that his gun, badge, cell phone, radio and Kevlar vest were all missing. He couldn't see his feet, but he could feel the bonds fastening them to the legs of the metal chair.

Tilting his head back, he searched his mind for the memories of the morning. He'd been with his team to conduct a bust on a house suspected of being a key point for an interstate drug distribution ring. He'd sent David and Colby to take the front with SWAT, and he and Megan had taken the back.

When they got inside, Megan had gone right, and he'd gone left. The first door he opened led to a basement, and he'd gone down to clear it. Actually, it looked kind of similar to this warehouse room, only with a lower ceiling. He'd crept around stacks of cardboard boxes and some typical clutter. Just as he neared the far corner of the room, he'd felt an intense pain at the back of his head, then nothing. Clearly someone had been down there with him, and he'd let them get the jump on him.

He sat up straighter and looked around again. There was nothing to indicate where he was or how many other people might be in the warehouse with him. Nothing happened for hours, not until the sunlight from the window began to fade. That's when the door at the far side of the room opened, and a heavyset man in a flannel shirt, jeans and a ski mask walked in.

That he was bothering to hide his identity was probably a good thing, Don thought. At least they might not be planning to kill him.

"So you're graduating from selling drugs to kidnapping a federal agent?" Don said.

The man walked toward him slowly, not reacting to Don's words at all.

"You weren't so shy when you clocked me in the head," Don said.

The man reached him and slowly lifted a water bottle in one hand and unscrewed the top, moving it toward Don. Don turned his head away, but the man landed a fist hard on Don's cheek, grabbed his hair and yanked his head backward. He forced the bottle into Don's mouth and poured the water in.

Don tried to spit it out as it came in, but the water was pouring in too fast. Swallowing was certainly better than breathing in the water, so that's what he did. After what seemed an eternity, the man stopped pouring and took the bottle away. Don coughed and sputtered. He tried to say something, but the no sound would come out until after the man had left the room.

A few minutes later, the cardboard boxes he was staring at seemed to be getting fuzzy around the edges.

Great, so it *was* drugged, he thought.

His eyelids seemed to be sinking down, as much as he fought them, and soon, his chin slumped to his chest, and he was out.


	2. Chapter 2

Parker almost blended into the background as she knelt on the dark rooftop. Her blond hair was tucked into a black beret that matched the rest of her clothing. As she tightened the harness around her body, a voice came into her ear.

"Parker, are you sure that thing is going to be able to hold you and that statue?"

She scowled slightly.

"Hardison, it's a carbon fiber line and a secure five-point harness. It's fine," she said.

She quickly picked the window lock and eased the pane open.

"Nate, I'm going in."

"Remember the plan, Parker. Get in, get out. Nothing fancy," said Nate's voice in her earbud.

"Yeah. Right," she said.

Reaching in through the window, she screwed two rings to the metal frame of the building and threaded the two harness lines through them. With the second harness in hand, she jumped, descending to the floor of the dark room in seconds. Well, she wasn't the world's greatest thief for nothing.

She landed behind a stack of cardboard boxes and silently crept around them. The room was pitch black except for a tiny glimmer through the window from a streetlight. Cautiously, she clicked on a tiny flashlight. In such a dark room, it almost felt like she'd turned on a spotlight, but her eyes adjusted, and she stopped suddenly.

"Um, Nate? Do you want the bad news or the weird news?" Parker said.

"Parker, what's going on?"

She crouched down behind a box in the dark room.

"Well, the statue isn't here. I can't see it, and none of the boxes in here are big enough to hold it."

"OK, come on back, and we'll regroup."

Glancing around the edge of the box, she made a face.

"That's the thing. I found something else. There's a man tied to a chair."

"Did he see you?"

Parker stepped out and walked closer to the man.

"No, I think he's knocked out."

"Good. Now get out of there, Parker."

Her eyes widened. "But Nate, these guys here are bad guys, really bad. We can't just leave him."

"He could be a bad guy too, Parker. We need to get some more intel, and we can come back."

"We don't have time for you to come up with another plan, and I'm not leaving him here. What if they come back and do something bad to him?"

She reached into the pocket of the man's dark blue jeans.

"There's no wallet or ID here, but I still think we should help him."

Hardison broke in on the exchange in her ear.

"Excuse me, hacker extraordinaire here. I think I can get us that intel. Parker, do you have your phone?"

"Yeah."

"Bring up that scanning app I put on there for you. When you have it loaded, go over and put his right index finger on the scanner."

Parker pulled out the phone and gingerly took hold of one of the man's handcuffed hands. After tapping the phone screen a few times, she held it up to his fingertip and gently rolled it across the screen.

"OK, I've got it. Now what?"

"Now, you send it to me, and I can use my hack into the FBI to run it through all the fingerprint databases. It could take while, though."

Parker knelt down next to the chair, watching the man for any signs of movement.

Back in the van, Hardison clicked on his mouse a few times, then sat back.

"Now what?" said Nate.

"Now, we wait. It's running the guy's print through the state of California, Interpol, FBI, you name it," Hardison said.

He drummed his fingers lightly on the keyboard and took a swig of orange soda. After a few minutes, the computer chirped.

"And we have a hit," Hardison said with a grin. "Mystery man, this is your life."

As he scrolled through several pages, the grin faded, and by the time he looked at Nate, Hardison's expression had become downright serious.

"Um, Nate? This could be… well, I don't know if it's bad or good."

Nate raised his eyebrows. "Tell me what you've got."

"Well, our guy in the warehouse is Special Agent Don Eppes of the FBI. From what I'm reading here in his file, he's like scary good at his job. I'm surprised this dude even has time for a life with all the cases he's closed. He's in charge of the violent crimes division for Los Angeles. Dude has taken more murderers, kidnappers and armed robbers off the street than I can count."

Nate nodded. Eliot cleared his throat.

"Guy like this, we've got to get him out of there," said Eliot, clenching his fists. "He's a hero."

"The problem is if he sees us rescuing him, he could find out about all of us," said Hardison.

As Nate nodded again, the corners of his mouth turned up just a little bit.

"I know that look. It's the 'I have a plan' look," said Hardison.

Nate shot him a glare.

"I do have a plan, Hardison. But it's going to require some good luck. And Parker might have to be the carrot," Nate said.

"Nate, you know I'm not good at being the carrot. What about my problem with, you know, the stabbing?" Parker said in an agitated whisper.

"You'll do fine. You did fine with Vector. You can do this. Now, uncuff him and get him into the harness. Can you manage that alone?"

Parker smiled. "The cuffs are off already. I got bored."

Pulling out a pocket knife, she reached down and slashed the plastic zip-ties holding Don's legs to the chair. Immediately, his body began to fall off the chair. Parker caught him with a grunt.

"Oof. Super agents are kind of heavy," she said.

"You OK with him?" Eliot said.

"Yeah. Just give me a minute," she said, panting slightly. "Once I have him in the harness, it'll do all the heavy lifting."

She reached out and began pulling his arms through the loops of the harness. Don's left arm flopped around as she picked it up.

"Eliot, one of his arms is moving funny," she said.

"What do you mean 'funny'?" Eliot said.

"Well, it's like it's not connected right."

Eliot scowled. "Bastards probably dislocated his shoulder when they tied him up. Parker, it'll be fine. I'll fix him up once he's out of there."

"OK."

She resumed, pulling each of Don's legs through the harness as well.

"You know, it's funny he hasn't reacted to any of this. He must have gotten hit in the head really hard or something," Parker said.

Pulling out a carabiner, she hooked it to the center of the harness, near his waist, and to the second line.

"I'm ready to send him up. Eliot, I'm going to need you at the bottom outside to catch this guy."

She hit a button, and the motor at the top of the roof pulled both lines slowly upward toward the window. When they reached the top, she said, "Eliot? Are you there?"

"Send him on down, Parker."

Parker pushed Don through the small window feet first and followed him through. His body hung limply in the harness, leaning against the roof. She crouched next to him for a moment, then hit the button again to send them both down.

Eliot was there, as promised, and he eased Don over his shoulder into a fireman's carry as the motor finished their descent. Parker pressed a button, and both lines released, flopping to the ground. They hurried back to the van, where Nate and Hardison were waiting with the door open.

"I'm going to put him down. Nate, Hardison, catch him, but don't pull on his arms," Eliot said.

He leaned forward to push Don onto the van's floor. Hardison caught Don's back, and Nate guided Don's head to the floor. Eliot grabbed his legs and swung them into the van. Parker jumped into the passenger seat as Nate slipped behind the wheel. They drove away from the warehouse and down the highway before anyone knew they'd been there at all.


	3. Chapter 3

"There has to be something else we can do," said Colby, as he leaned against a table in the FBI conference room, hands in his pockets.

"The drug-runners' accomplices got away before we could put out the call and block off roads. We're searching the area, but we don't have a lot to go on," said Megan.

Just then, Charlie burst through the conference room's glass doors, his curly hair bouncing wildly as he rushed into the room. His eyes were wide with concern, and he began tapping his hand against his leg with a nervous fervor.

"I just got the message. What happened? Who did this?"

Megan met him halfway and gently put her hand on his shoulder.

"We don't know who grabbed Don exactly, Charlie, but they're probably connected to the drug ring we were investigating. All we know is that sometime after 8 a.m. but before 8:15, someone managed to get Don out of the house we were raiding and through our perimeter before we even knew what had happened."

She pressed her lips together in a grimace, and patted Charlie's shoulder.

"But why?" asked Charlie

"I can think of a lot of reasons, but the two that stick out the most? Either they want to have some leverage for a trade or…" Colby trailed off.

"Or what?" asked Charlie, his voice panicked.

Colby's eyes glazed over for a moment as he remembered some of the things he'd seen happed to prisoners of the enemy when he was in Afghanistan. Drug runners with a vendetta against the FBI could and would beat and seriously injure Don—or worse. Charlie didn't need to be thinking about that right now.

He took a deep breath and met Charlie's gaze. "Charlie, let's focus on the first possibility."

Charlie nodded absently, and it was like someone had flipped a switch in his brain. "Data. What data do we have to work with? More data is always better. Knowing the full set of possible motives should help me refine a possible path."

He paused and noticed the grave expressions on Colby and Megan's faces.

"What aren't you telling me?" asked Charlie, as he paced in front of the table.

"We don't know anything for sure, Charlie, but it's possible they've got something against the FBI, and they want to take it out on someone," Colby said with a frown.

Sitting down heavily in a chair, Charlie took a deep breath.

"But," said Colby, "we haven't received any sort of demands or publicity-seeking photos or video from whoever took Don. There's no way they don't know they have an FBI agent. I wish I knew what they're waiting for."

Charlie furrowed his brow and sat quietly for a while, thinking. Megan's phone beeped with a text alert, and she pulled it out of her pocket to look at it. Charlie found himself staring at the phone in her hand.

"We know where Don's kidnapper was at a specific time, right?" said Charlie.

"Well, yeah. But Charlie, he left Don's phone at the scene. We can't track him that way," said Colby.

Smiling slightly, Charlie said, "We don't need Don's phone. We'll use the kidnapper's."

"I know you want to help, Charlie, but he didn't exactly leave us his phone number," said Colby.

Charlie jumped up and walked to a whiteboard. Uncapping a marker, he drew three overlapping circles.

"Doesn't matter. Remember the blackouts? We tracked their target by seeing what didn't overlap. We're going to do the opposite here. Imagine three people shining flashlight on the ground from different directions. The spot where they all intersect will have the most light. We'll need data from this morning from the three nearest cell towers surrounding the house where you made the bust."

Megan furrowed her brow in confusion. "I'm still not following you, Charlie."

"By using the overlapping data from the three towers, we can narrow down a geographic area around the house and use it to reduce our suspect pool," Charlie explained excitedly, as he colored in the area where all three of his circles overlapped. "We're going to pinpoint all the cell signals that were in a one-block radius of the house from this morning."

"That's going to be a lot of cell signals," Megan said with a frown.

"From there, we whittle it down. Eliminate those that belong to the FBI, and those that were still in the area at 8:30 and after. Then, we can shrink it further by seeing where the remaining signals are now," Charlie said, scribbling an equation on the whiteboard. "But first we need the data."

For the first time all afternoon, Megan smiled. "I'll get a warrant."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hours later, Charlie was still furiously scribbling on a whiteboard while David and Colby helped with loading the databases and typing in other information.

"So, how are we doing here?" Megan asked, walking back into the room.

Charlie paused and ran a hand through his curls.

"I'm writing an algorithm to isolate the overlap-area cell signals in this data that got hits from all three of these towers in our given timeframe— from the time you entered the house to 15 minutes after you discovered Don was missing."

"OK, then what?"

"Once we get those results and remove other numbers we know aren't the person, then we ping the remaining phones and get their current locations. I can figure out the probability of each suspect being the right person based on their current location."

"A kidnapper could really be anywhere, so what factors are you figuring into your probabilities?" said David.

"Well, for instance, it's unlikely that our bad guy is taking the time for a long dinner at a nice restaurant or spending the evening at a movie theater. He's most likely going to stick with Don-" Charlie's voice caught in his throat as he mentioned his brother, but he continued. "To keep an eye on him."

"Right, I see where you're going, Charlie," David said, nodding. "So you'd give higher numbers to isolated locations or neighborhoods where no one would ask too many questions about something strange?"

"Exactly," Charlie said, pointing at David. "So when we run the initial algorithm, we get 200 cell signals in the overlapping area at 8 a.m. If I eliminate all FBI and other emergency personnel and all the signals that remained in the area after we know this guy left, that already brings us down to 50. Now we just have to use the current locations, and we'll have our most likely search areas."

"This is great, Charlie," Colby said. "As soon as you have it narrowed down, we'll get teams out to the hot zones."

Colby started to walk out the door, then turned back to Charlie. "We'll get him back, Charlie. I promise."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"I can't believe Charlie managed to narrow it down to two places. After three years, I shouldn't really be surprised, but sometimes I feel like Charlie's math is almost a magic trick," said David.

Colby looked out the window. "We're almost there. Megan's team is already in position at the second location."

David guided the sedan into a complex of warehouses. Stacks of broken pallets littered the alleyways, and an empty soda can clanked across the parking lot, propelled by a slight breeze. He pulled in next to a large steel-doored building. The bulky black SWAT truck was already there.

"OK, staging area is here," David said. "Is SWAT in position yet?"

Colby pressed the button on his radio.

"This is FBI team one to SWAT team leader. What's your position?"

A blast of static poured out of the radio.

"This is SWAT team leader. We are in position, ready to go on your signal."

David and Colby stepped out of the car and pulled their gear from the back. Suited up in Kevlar and carrying their weapons, they walked over to the edge of the first warehouse.

David pointed to another warehouse 25 feet away. "We've got the front, SWAT's got the back and side."

He turned his radio on. "All teams, ready on my mark?"

"Affirmative."

"Copy that."

"Remember, Agent Eppes may be in here. Our primary goal is to find him and get him out alive," said David. "Let's go. Move, move, move."

Three teams sprang into action simultaneously. David and Colby crashed through the front door, kicking it down as they went. Surprised, two men inside jumped up from their chairs, knocking a couple of half-full beer cans to the floor before running toward the other end of the building. A third whipped out a handgun and started shooting. Both agents fired back, and the shooter went down.

The SWAT team from the side entrance made their way into the room, confronting the two runners and quickly had them on the ground in cuffs. A man from the second SWAT team walked out from a narrow corridor leading from the back.

A call came from David's radio. "SWAT team two reporting all clear. One suspect in custody, back hallway."

"Copy that," said David. "One suspect down here, two in custody. All clear. Any sign of Agent Eppes back there?"

"Not exactly, but there's something you should see here."

David and Colby rushed to the back, leaving SWAT to watch over the suspects.

A narrow, dank hallway connected the larger room to the back room. In front of the doorway to the back room was a male suspect face-down on the floor in cuffs with a SWAT man standing over him. Colby walked past, into the room. It was filled with stacks of cardboard boxes. As he rounded one stack, he saw the SWAT team leader kneeling next to a chair.

"What have you got?" Colby said.

"It definitely looks like someone was held here. I can't say if it was Agent Eppes, though."

"Let me see."

Colby knelt down to examine the evidence. A pair of handcuffs lay on the ground, along with two zip ties, fastened and cut in half. Pulling on a glove, Colby picked up the handcuffs.

"These are law-enforcement issue. They could be Don's. The kidnapper didn't leave his at the scene," Colby said. "Have the suspects said anything yet?"

"Nothing so far, but I think your partner's working on it," said the SWAT man.

Colby looked up to see David speaking quietly—but from the look of it, not with gentle words—to the suspect, who was now standing up. He walked over as David signaled for SWAT to take the man into custody.

"Did you get anything?" Colby asked.

"The guy swears there was a prisoner in there—white with dark hair, medium height, wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. It could be Don," said David. "But it could easily be someone else."

"So where is he?"

"Suspect said that he last saw the prisoner around 7 p.m. to—" David gritted his teeth. "To give him some drugged water to make it easier to move him to another location tonight."

Colby looked at his watch. "That was only four hours ago. What happened?"

"Our perp swears he doesn't know. SWAT thinks he seemed just as surprised as us when they busted through the door to find Don gone."

"Could Don have escaped?" asked Colby, raising his eyebrows.

"I want to think so, but how? They drugged Don, and this guy's been on guard duty outside the door the whole time, and the only other way out I see is there."

David pointed to a small window near the ceiling, and Colby turned to look.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" asked Colby with a tight smile.

"Let's call Charlie."


	4. Chapter 4

Nate drove the van along the dark highway, looking for a good place to stop. He glanced at the clock—it was 10:30. Hardison followed his gaze.

"Hey man," said Hardison, shaking his head. "I'm not going to be the one to tell Sophie we're not picking her up from the airport because we adopted an FBI agent. That's your job."

"Yeah, yeah," Nate grumbled. "Find us a low-rent motel near here, and see if you can hack into the computer system."

"If? If?" said Hardison, waving his hands in the air. "Child's play, man."

He smirked as he tapped on his phone for a minute.

"Go another mile down the highway, and there's a Sleep Rite & Tite. By the time we get there, I'll be into their system. What kind of room do you want?"

"Get us something on the ground floor, out of view of the office. If you can, just mark it occupied without a name," Nate said.

"Got it." He tapped on a few keys and then pouted. "Does that mean no pay-per-view?"

"Hardison."

Nate raised his gaze to the rearview mirror. Eliot was kneeling next to Don on the floor, checking his pulse.

"How's our guest doing back there?"

"He's got a few injuries, but I think I can treat everything with the first aid kit once we get there," said Eliot.

"Do we have an idea when he'll wake up?"

"His breathing's slow but regular. Heartbeat's a little sluggish. I'd guess not for a few hours at least. He definitely has a head injury, but looking at these pupils—I'm going to say he's been drugged. We should have enough time to do what we need to do."

Seeing the lit motel sign, Nate pulled off the highway.

"Hardison, you got their security cameras yet?"

"Way ahead of you. I've been recording the last few minutes, and I'm looping the footage… now."

Hardison clicked something on his phone.

"We're good to go, Nate. Room 127."

Nate drove the van around the back of the motel and backed into the space next to room 127.

"Anyone in the rooms next to us?" said Nate.

"Nah, we're good. We've got two empty rooms on either side. Guess this isn't a popular place to stay," said Hardison.

"Or people only need the rooms for a short time."

"That's gross, Nate."

Nate smirked.

"Eliot, you get our guest. Hardison, be the lookout," ordered Nate. "Parker, you're on the door."

Pulling off her beret, Parker climbed out of the van. She spent about 10 seconds at the dingy white door to the room, then opened it.

"The security here's a joke," she said. "They should call it the 'hope you didn't bring anything valuable motel.'"

Eliot growled. "Parker, move."

Walking through the door with Don again in a fireman's carry over his shoulder, Eliot headed straight for the nearest double bed.

"Nate, make sure I don't hit his head when I put him down."

He leaned over, and Don's body slid off his shoulder and onto the paisley bedspread.

"Hardison, get over here. I need you to hold his back while I pop his shoulder back into place," Eliot said.

"Why can't Nate do that?"

Eliot glared at him.

"OK, fine. But isn't that going to wake him up?"

"That's the advantage of being completely drugged up. He won't feel a thing," Eliot said. "At least not until later."

Hardison propped Don against the yellow wall, and held him there firmly. Eliot, gripping Don's left arm gave one solid push. There was a light "pop" from the shoulder socket. Don's legs twitched, and his face flinched. Hardison nearly jumped.

"OK man, you got it in there. I felt that pop. Gross."

Eliot shot him a look.

"I need the first aid kit from the van and some ice. Do you think you can manage that?"

"I'll do it, as long as I don't have to play medic again," said Hardison.

He grabbed the ice bucket and walked out. Parker stood at the far end of the room, hands clasped. As Eliot sat with Don, Nate walked over to Parker.

"You're going to be fine, Parker. It's much easier than tricking Vector, and you pulled that off," Nate said.

"I know. I just…" Parker trailed off.

"It's different, I know. Think of it as a new tool in your bag of tricks for grifting. It's like a new harness or lock-pick," he said. "Take a deep breath and just be calm."

He patted her on the back.

"Now come on. We've got work to do."

Hardison walked back into the room and handed Eliot an orange first-aid box and the full ice bucket.

"That's everything," he said.

Nate nodded. "Hardison, I need you working on the phone situation."

The two men walked back out to the van. Eliot opened the orange box and began removing gauze, alcohol swabs and ointment. Parker sat down next to him on the bed as he wiped dry blood off a cut on Don's head, then bandaged Don's wrists, raw from the handcuffs, in the gauze and ointment.

"You want to help me with this?" Eliot said.

"I don't really know what to do," Parker said softly, as she looked down at her hands.

"I know it looks bad, but this guy's probably had worse," he said. "Take some of that ice and put it in one of these latex gloves and tie up the hole."

Parker grabbed the glove and started filling it with ice, then knotted the end. Handing it to Eliot, she said, "Now what?"

Eliot took the ice-filled glove and tucked it behind Don's head.

"Now we need a sling. That shoulder's going to be sore. His instinct will be to get up and assess the situation when he wakes up, and I don't want him hurting himself even more." Eliot looked around the room. "Give me that pillow case."

She reached for the second pillow on the bed and shook the case off of it. Eliot took out his pocket knife and ripped halfway down one of the seams. Parker just stared as he took Don's injured arm and folded it into the bottom of the pillowcase, then grabbed the two ends of the ripped seam, looped them around Don's neck and made a knot.

"See? Now that'll cradle his arm, so even if he jumped out of this bed, he wouldn't pop it back out," Eliot said. "You made the right call, Parker. This guy needed our help."

He looked up as Nate and Hardison walked back into the room.

"All set?"

Nate nodded, and Hardison held up a phone.

"One cavalry phone right here," said Hardison.

"Good. Let's go."

Nate turned to Parker. "It's your show now, Parker. If he sees any of the rest of us, this won't work."

Parker gave him a small smile, turned and sat down on the second bed. Nate, Hardison and Eliot walked out the door, and then she was alone with Don.

What was this guy like when he was awake? She'd never get the chance to know. It was funny in a way. She never really spent time with the clients—that was all Nate and Sophie. And really, this guy wasn't a client in the strictest sense, but she wanted to get to know him. The things Hardison had said about his FBI file—he sounded like he might be kind of scary. He probably wouldn't be impressed by her safe-cracking abilities. But somehow, looking at him at his most vulnerable, he didn't look so bad.

She sat and watched him for a while, trying to picture him fighting like Eliot, hacking from a surveillance van like Hardison or calling the shots like Nate. When he gave the first sign of movement, it had been at least an hour, probably more. Parker had lost track of time, between her daydream and just watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Suddenly, his breathing became more uneven, and he began to shift on the bed.

"He's starting to wake up," she whispered. "This feels… wrong, waiting for him to see me."

"I know, Parker, but you know he has to see you to help him follow our trail of breadcrumbs," said Nate's voice in her ear. "Remember, we don't really know how drugged he really is. Eliot thinks he'll probably fall back asleep at least once after stirring."

Parker stood by the bed and took a deep breath.

"I can do this. No stabbing," she said, mostly to herself.

Don shifted again, and his face crinkled up a little, like he was starting to feel some pain. His eyes fluttered, and then they were open. His gaze darted from the ceiling to the other bed and finally to Parker. He blinked a few more times, as if trying to focus, and then he was staring at her.

"Wh-Who…" his voice rasped and crackled.

"Shh, it's OK. You're safe now. Your friends are on their way. Just try to rest," Parker said, putting her hand on his forehead.

He mumbled something else, then reached up and touched her arm, but his grip slackened quickly. His eyes closed, and soon it was clear he'd fallen back asleep.

"Nate," Parker whispered. "Part one is complete."

"All right, finish part two, and we're out of here."

She pulled a folded up paper out of her pocket and gently tucked it completely into the front pocket of Don's jeans. From her other pocket, she pulled the phone Hardison had given her and set it next to Don on the bed. Backing away, she took a last look at Don, then crept out of the room and toward the van.

Pulling open the van door, Parker jumped inside.

"Let's go," she said.

Nate started the van and drove out of the Sleep Rite & Tite parking lot.

"Let's get at least 10 miles down the road, then it's time for part three, Hardison."

"You got it."


	5. Chapter 5

In the back room of the warehouse, Charlie stood with a furrowed brow, looking at the stacks of cardboard boxes, the chair, the door and window.

"So what do you think, Charlie?" said Colby.

"Are you sure that no one moved any boxes in here?"

Colby nodded. "This is how we found it when we busted the place. Why?"

"And you're sure they're not lying to you about the set-up with the guard?"

"We can't be completely sure of that, but I don't think they are. Why? What are you thinking?"

Charlie pointed toward the boxes.

"None of these stacks are high enough or in the right place to allow Don to climb out that window. Even if he'd knocked over a stack after he'd reached the top, there would be a pattern in the way the boxes fell to indicate where they had been."

Colby nodded. "And that's assuming Don was even able to climb like that. If the suspects are being straight with us, he was drugged enough to last for several hours. Unless they messed up on the dosage, I'd be surprised if he was even close to being at the top of his game with that going on."

Just then, Megan and David walked in.

"How are we doing? Any theories?" said Megan.

"Charlie doesn't think Don could have gotten up to the window, and I think he's probably right," said Colby, as he put his hands on his hips.

"So where does that leave us?" said David.

"I see three options," said Charlie, ticking them off his fingers. "One, Don had help from someone to make it out that window. Two, the guard either didn't notice Don coming through the door or helped him get out. Three, Don was never even here."

"I don't know about that last one, Charlie," said Megan. "It looks pretty clear that someone was held prisoner here. For four guys who clearly didn't expect to get caught, that's a lot of thought to put the cuffs and zip ties out just to set it up for us."

"Where do we go from here? I don't think any of these guys helped him escape, so how did he get out?" said David. "Don's a good agent, but he's not Houdini."

Megan's phone beeped, and she looked down at it. Frowning, she said, "Does this mean anything to you guys?"

On the screen was a series of numbers: 911 127 34.146344 -118.091316.

"Not to me," Colby said. "Charlie, take a look at this. It's all numbers. What does this say to you?"

Pulling a small notebook from his inside jacket pocket, Charlie glanced at the screen before copying the numbers down. He tapped at the pad with his pen.

"With the wide differential in number length, it's unlikely to be a code. We know that the 911 likely means 'emergency'."

"If it's Don, why doesn't he just use the distress word?" said Colby.

"I'm not sure, but these last two numbers… They look like GPS coordinates, somewhere local," Charlie said.

David pulled out his phone.

"I'm looking them up now," said David. "It looks like at those coordinates there's a motel about five miles away—Sleep Rite & Tite. We should check it out."

"I agree. Let's go," said Megan.

Catching Charlie's hopeful gaze, she said, "I'm sorry, Charlie, but I can't let you come with us—it could be an active crime scene. Stay here with SWAT, and if it's safe, we'll come back and get you."

Charlie bit his lip and nodded, then leaned against the cold cement wall and slid to the ground to sit. Balancing his elbows on top of his knees, he looked at the floor, holding his head in his hands.

With a glance back at Charlie, Megan walked out of the warehouse and got into her SUV. Colby and David took their sedan and pulled onto the highway. Within a few minutes, they were at a run-down motel that could have used a few coats of paint at the least. Stepping out of their cars, they huddled for a moment.

"There's got to be 50 rooms here. Where do we start? Manager's office?" said Colby.

"No, wait. There was that extra number on the text we couldn't account for—127. What if it's a room number?" said Megan. "We don't have a warrant, and we don't have enough probable cause—David, get the manager's permission, and we'll go in."

Minutes later, Megan and David were on either side of the door to room 127. Colby stood in front, and reached for the doorknob. It turned in his hands, and he whispered, "Unlocked."

With a nod at Megan and David, he pushed the door open, yelling, "FBI!"

Spotting Don lying on one of the double beds, Colby pushed forward to clear the bathroom, while David cleared the area around the second bed, and Megan ran over to Don.

"Clear," yelled Colby.

"Clear here, too," said David.

Pressing two fingers against Don's neck, Megan breathed a sigh of relief.

"He's alive, steady pulse," she said. "Don, can you hear me?"

As she tapped his cheek gently, he reacted.

"Meeehgn?" he slurred, struggling to open his eyes.

"Don, it's going to be OK. We're here," Megan said.

David had stepped away to put out a call on his radio. "I need paramedics to the Sleep Rite & Tite Motel now. We have an agent down. Please be advised we have located Agent Eppes."

He walked back over to the bed.

"How's he doing?"

"He woke up there for a second, but I think he's unconscious again," said Megan.

"But how did he even get here?" Colby frowned. "I mean, we're a good five miles from that warehouse. We can't even figure out how he got out of that room, let alone how he could have made it five miles down the road and broken into a motel room."

"Look at him," said Megan, gesturing to Don as he slept on the bed. "Someone's already patched him up, and I don't think it was our guys at the warehouse. Something's not right here."

Their radios crackled to life. "Be advised, paramedics approaching Sleep Rite & Tite Motel."

Thirty seconds later, the ambulance was there, and the paramedics were checking Don's injuries.

"He looks stable," one of them said to Megan. "Did you treat him before we got here?"

"No, we found him like that."

"It looks like he'll be fine, but we're going to take him over to UCLA to be checked out."

Megan looked over to Colby and David.

"I'm going to ride with Don to the hospital," she said. "Colby, take my car, get Charlie and meet us there. David, I need you take stay here and take charge of the scene. See if you can get surveillance or anything else to tell us what happened here."

The paramedics had transferred Don to a stretcher and were carrying him into the back of the ambulance. Megan climbed in after them. They shut the doors and took off.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Two hours later, Megan, Charlie and Colby were sitting in Don's hospital room, talking with the doctor while various monitors beeped in the background.

"We're a little concerned about his head injury, but we'll be able to tell more once he's fully aware. The paramedics say he had already been treated when they got there."

Megan sighed. "We're not sure how that happened. We found him miles away from his last known location, already patched up."

The doctor nodded.

"Whoever fixed him up did him a favor and knew what they were doing. None of his wounds look infected, and from the inflammation on his shoulder, it appears that it was dislocated and properly reset. The sling was textbook perfect, and the quick treatment on his wrists means they should heal much faster," said the doctor.

He handed Charlie a plastic bag full of clothing.

"This is everything Agent Eppes had on him when we brought him in."

Charlie smiled slightly. "Thanks."

The doctor walked out, and the three of them sat there for a few minutes in silence, watching Don sleep. His face was blank—no crinkled brow, no wide smile. The nurses had only attached one IV to his right hand. They had also replaced the makeshift sling with a dark blue hospital-issue one, and his injured arm was draped on top of his chest, moving up and down with every steady breath. Then the rhythm was interrupted. He groaned, and his eyelids fluttered.

Slowly opening one eye, he said, "What happened? I feel like I've been run over by a truck."

Charlie reached over and held Don's hand, careful not to dislodge the IV. As he looked at Don, the worry had left his eyes, and a mischievous sparkle was back.

"You had us worried there for a while," Charlie said. "We were looking for you for about 16 hours. Plus, I think they might be getting close to punching your card for a free visit here. What is it, six times and the next one is free?"

Don smiled, then raised an eyebrow.

"Seriously, what happened? I've got bits and pieces floating around in my head, and they don't all make sense."

Megan scooted her chair closer to the bed.

"We were hoping you could tell us, because I don't think we have all the pieces either," she said. "What's going through your head?"

He started to sit up, then stopped, wincing slightly at the effort. Leaning back against the pillows, he sighed.

"Well, I remember going into the house. You and I split up, and I went to clear a room, but it turned out to be a door to a basement staircase. I went down there, and someone got the jump on me and knocked me out," he said. "So I'm not sure how long I was out or where they took me, but when I woke up, I was tied to a chair in a warehouse. I sort of remember someone wrenching my arm, and I think they got me pretty good across the face too."

He looked over at Charlie.

"Charlie, are you sure you want to hear all this? You don't have to stay, buddy."

Charlie shook his head. "I need to know. It's OK. I can handle it."

Don took a deep breath. "I think I was there for hours, but I didn't have a good way of telling the time. I remember a guy in a ski mask coming towards me and forcing water down my throat. I remember choking on the water, but then things get fuzzy."

Colby crossed his arms. "We found the warehouse, Don, and I think your ski mask guy too, but when we got there, you were gone."

Don nodded. "Yeah, that's where it starts to get strange. You're going to laugh, but I have the weirdest sensation that I was floating there in mid-air for a few minutes."

"That's why they tell you to stay off drugs," Charlie teased.

"No, seriously, Charlie. I mean it. It's not exactly a memory—more of an impression. Then I opened my eyes, and the warehouse was gone, and I was on a bed in some dingy room with yellow walls. And there was this girl there."

Megan and Colby looked at each other.

"A girl? Can you tell me about her?" said Megan.

"She was… blonde. Long blonde hair. She smiled at me and said… something. I can't remember. Then the next thing I remember, everything was moving. I think I was in the ambulance. Did you talk with her? What did she say? Where is she?"

Megan smoothed her hands gently on top of the bed. "Don, we found you in a motel room, but no one was there with you."

Don squinted at her. "What? What do you mean?"

"She means, Houdini, that you apparently escaped handcuffs, zip-ties, a heavily-guarded warehouse with no obvious escape route and magically transported yourself five miles away into a motel room where you didn't have a key, all with the help of a blonde mirage," Colby said with a smile. "Did you turn into James Bond when we weren't looking?"

Don stared back at Colby with a look of utter bewilderment.

"Chuck, this isn't a joke you thought up, is it? Because it isn't funny."

Charlie threw his hands up and shrugged. "This is all you, Don."

"We believe you about the girl," Megan said, nudging Charlie on the arm. "When we found you, someone had definitely treated your injuries. They had bandaged you up and even made a sling for your arm out of the motel's pillowcase. According to the doctor, you were drugged pretty heavily, so I don't think you could have done all that on your own."

Don nodded.

"That's not all either. We found you because someone texted Megan your exact GPS coordinates," Colby said.

"Did you trace the text?" Don said.

Colby nodded. "Sure, but it didn't do us much good. It traced to a burner cell, only used once, and whoever used it left it on the motel bed next to you."

"But you're sure I didn't send it," Don said.

"You couldn't even say my name clearly when we found you," said Megan. "I don't think you could have typed out eight or nine-digit GPS coordinates. Plus, you wouldn't have wiped your own prints off the phone."

Don leaned back on the bed and ran his right hand back through his hair. "I can't even get my head around all of this."

He clicked the button to raise the head of the bed up and noticed Charlie rummaging through a plastic bag.

"Whatcha got there, Charlie?"

Charlie looked up. "The doctor gave us a bag of everything you had on you when you came into the hospital."

"So you had to go dig through it? Charlie, come on."

Charlie put a hand up. "Don, there could be clues in here."

Don pursed his lips. "You're right. Did you find anything?"

"That depends. Did you have a letter in your pocket addressed to an Agent McSweeten?"

Shaking his head, Don said, "No, I wouldn't have been carrying a letter in my pocket when I was going to raid a house."

"McSweeten. Wasn't that the name of the lead agent on the D.B. Cooper case?" Colby said.

"I thought there was a guy working the financial crimes division with that name," said Megan.

"Here in L.A.?" said Don.

Megan nodded. "Open it up, Charlie. Let's see what it says."

"It's addressed to this agent. Isn't it a federal crime or something to open it?" Charlie said.

Don frowned and shook his head. "It's not technically mail, since it wasn't sent through any official channel like the postal service."

Unfolding the paper, Charlie read aloud, "I found something you seem to have misplaced. Next time, you owe me a smoothie. I would have stuck around, but you know how it is. Glad to see you're not in Kansas."

"That's it?" said Colby. "That's… cryptic."

"To say the least," said Don.

"It could be some sort of code," said Charlie.

"The person who would know that the best is probably Agent McSweeten," said Megan. "I'll call the office and get him down here."


	6. Chapter 6

Half an hour later, Special Agent Todd McSweeten walked down the hospital corridor with a confused expression on his face. He stopped at the nurses' station.

"Hi. I'm looking for Agent Reeves, FBI? She said she was visiting Agent Eppes here in the hospital?"

The nurse looked down at her computer, then back up at McSweeten.

"ID, please?"

He produced his badge and held it out for her inspection. She nodded and said, "Room 314."

As he approached the room, he saw two people standing outside—a muscular man and a tall, thin woman. They looked familiar, but he couldn't place them. Walking up to them, he said, "Hi. I'm Special Agent McSweeten. I heard you were looking for me."

The woman nodded. "I'm Megan Reeves. This is Colby Granger. We're in the violent crimes division."

Shoving his hands in his pockets, McSweeten tilted his head to one side. "So what can I do for you? It's a little unusual for me to be called down to a hospital room."

"I understand. Tell me, did you hear about what happened to Agent Eppes over the last 24 hours?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Well, not all the details, but I know he'd been abducted from a crime scene but that now he's been found. The whole office was talking about it. Why?"

"What we're still trying to figure out is how he escaped from his captors and ended up five miles away barely conscious with all his injuries treated," Megan said.

McSweeten raised his eyebrows. "Is that right? I'm still not sure what I can do. I've been working with financial crimes—mysterious escapes aren't really part of my daily routine, and I've never even met Agent Eppes personally."

"That's part of the mystery," Colby said with a smile. "Come in, and we'll talk with Don about it."

They stepped into Don's room, where Don was chatting with Charlie. The two men looked up at them.

"Hello. I'm Todd McSweeten," he said. "I heard you wanted me to help solve a mystery, but I'm still not clear on how I can help."

"Take a look at this," said Colby, handing him an evidence bag. "We found it on Don when we recovered him, but he doesn't know how he got it."

Holding it up, McSweeten could see there was an unfolded sheet of paper in the bag. He read it slowly, out loud.

"I found something you seem to have misplaced," he murmured, still looking confused. He looked up at Don. "I guess that's supposed to mean you?"

Don shrugged with his good shoulder. "It would seem that way."

Looking back at the note, Mc Sweeten continued, "Next time, you owe me a smoothie."

A ghost of a smile started to form around the corners of his mouth, and he kept going. "I would have stuck around, but you know how it is. Glad to see you're not in Kansas."

The smile was broad now, almost an ear to ear grin.

"What's so funny?" said Don.

"You know something about this note?" said Colby.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do," said McSweeten with chuckle. "You found it with Agent Eppes? Do you know anything else?"

"We found Don in a motel room five miles away from where his kidnappers were keeping him. He'd apparently escaped from a room with no obvious escapes routes, gotten medical attention and broken into an unoccupied motel room," Megan said.

"Don't forget about the girl," said Don. He looked over at McSweeten. "I have these hazy memories of this girl with me in the motel room. She said something to me—I'm not sure what, but I get the feeling she was concerned about me."

"What did she look like?" said McSweeten.

"Young, thin, blonde hair," said Don.

If it was possible, McSweeten's smile became even wider.

"What's the deal? What do you know?" said Don.

McSweeten sat on the foot of Don's bed. "You mean you don't know?"

"Know what?" said Don.

"The girl, the note. It was Special Agent Hagen," McSweeten said.

"Who?"

"Special Agent Hagen. I met her on the Mosconi mob case a few years ago. Then, I ran into her last year while I was working protection detail for Daniel Fowler, you know, the investment scam guy? I got her a smoothie, and she told me it was delicious," McSweeten said.

"Got a little crush on her?" said Colby.

"Well, yeah. You would too—she's perfect. Anyway, that's what she means when she says I owe her a smoothie—she's telling me it was her."

"It's a bit of a reach," Megan said.

"No, no, trust me," McSweeten said, shaking his head. "It's not just that. The next part confirms it. She's always working deep cover assignments. She was secret back-up for the Fowler case, and then when I met up with her a few months ago, she told me she'd been tracking down someone in Russia—something very secret."

"Why'd you see her a few months ago?" said Don.

"I was working protective detail for Mark Vector, before he was going to testify at that grand jury hearing in Boston, and he managed to give me the slip at the airport to go off with some girl. Anyway, the next morning, I'd managed to track him down to some apartments above a bar. I didn't think anyone but my supervisor knew I'd lost Vector, but then Hagen showed up to help. Somehow she'd heard about it. Anyway, things got really crazy, but we got Vector to court, and that's where he freaked out."

"Yeah, I remember that. He said he thought he'd killed someone?" said Don.

"Yeah. Actually, he pointed right at Hagen and said he'd killed her. Then he said I wasn't really in the FBI, before he jumped off the stand and grabbed a cop's gun, but Hagen snuck up behind him and got him with a taser before he could shoot anyone. Anyway, I was in big trouble, and I told Hagen I'd probably get transferred back to Kansas," McSweeten said. "But when I got back to my car, I found an escaped fugitive tied up in the trunk with a note saying she hoped it would help and that I wouldn't get transferred."

"So you're saying that's related to the Kansas reference in the note with Don?" said Charlie.

"Yeah. Well, that, and the fact that you described her to a tee."

"Wait, she's the blonde woman?" said Don, with interest. "Do you have a photo?"

McSweeten shook his head. "Sorry, no. I've tried, but I guess since she does so much deep cover work, the bureau's made her file inaccessible."

"Why didn't she stick around? Why the cryptic text?" Colby said.

"She must have found you in the course of a deep cover assignment and didn't want to blow her cover by being seen with known FBI agents," McSweeten said.

He sighed. "I wish I could have seen her again."

"Well, that solves one mystery," said Charlie. "But I'd still love to know how she got Don out of there without anyone knowing."

"Me too," said Don, as he sank back against the pillows.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A week later, Don was back at work on desk duty. Eying the stacks of files that had built up in his absence, he turned to the computer instead. There wasn't any footage to review from the motel—it seemed like someone had erased it. He tried looking up "Hagen" without a first name in the database but didn't find anyone who matched the girl he'd seen.

He tapped away at the keyboard, finding the files for the Fowler and Vector cases but found no mention of anyone named Hagen, except for in McSweeten's notes and in the report from his partner, Taggart.

"Either she's really deep cover, or I had a shared mirage," Don murmured. He intertwined his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair to think and wonder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've all enjoyed the story. Please let me know what you think of it.


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